


Chalk Girl

by ToasterFork



Category: Original Work
Genre: Chalk, F/F, Short, Short Story, chalk or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterFork/pseuds/ToasterFork
Summary: Here's a little short story I made all the way (not that far, really) back in early September of 2017. I just wanted to post something on this empty space once I had gotten the account approved and I thought "Hey, why not?" It's about two girls and chalk. Minor romance and all. NOTE: THEY ARE CHILDREN, DO NOT SEXUALIZE THIS, PLEASE!





	Chalk Girl

“17, 16, 8, 99…” it was weirdly soothing the way the numbers clicked out of my tongue. 7th grade. I went to a neat public school around the suburban areas of our state. Wearing my cherry red laces to tie my hair in, my tattered up dirty white sneakers, and of course my invisi-line retainer. I got good grades. As and Bs, but rarely, if ever, Cs. I loved mathematics. I especially loved numbers and the ordering of them. How everything had its static square boxes to be placed in. But also the careful creases on the folds of my binder. The tiny dotted lines to cut on. Oh, and of course, instructions printed with Helvetica Neue fonts in bold, usually on those loose leaf printer sheets. I didn't really talk that much. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it was just that I didn't need to.    
  
There was a distant breeze that day. The last day of 7th grade. I came back crying. I'm not sure why. I remember getting my dirty sneakers corrupted with pastel colors from the chalk drawings by one of our furthest neighbors’ kids. I sat on our applewood porch and hung my legs through the holes under the fencing. Chalk. I remember picking it up and brushing it down onto the concrete parts of our overgrown backyard. I drew squares. So many squares. Then… a girl. I wasn't sure who she was and what her story was but she was nice and comforting. Kind of like the numbers. She wasn't perfect. Her eyes looked droopy and sad but also melted away from the grin she had across her face. I felt the boxes inside me turn into loops. What was I doing? I looked down at my powdery, colorful hands.    
  
“Nice drawing.”   
  
A girl commented, her face too hazy and obscure for me to remember. I didn't really respond. After a few seconds of standing around I gave in.    
  
“It’s ‘tupid. I mean this. What am I? 8 years old?”   
  
Almost everything I said had a slurred tone. She looked through the fencing to face me.    
  
“I think it's nice.. It doesn't matter if this kinda stuff is childish.”   
  
I crumbled up the chalk and let it fall off my hand like sand into the grass. I kept looking down at it, and then peeked up at her.    
  
“Do you wanna come in?”    
  
I asked her, sighing as if I didn't care. I got up and went next to the gate door.    
  
Everything after that was a little messed up afterwards. Like the tape recorder got cut up or something. Maybe I just imagined everything. Maybe I was delirious after school… But I remember her eyes.. Droopy and sad… her mouth covered it up with the hugest grin I'd ever seen.    
  
The same day I packed my nice square chess board with it’s tidy checkered pattern. It fit in with all my clothes. I got my own box. It was a really big box. I now remember what I was crying for. I was going to leave. I was going to leave a place I never made any real memories in. I was going to leave my nice square room for something I don't have any idea about. But I didn't cry anymore. I picked up some crayola chalks that were still in the packaging and placed it in. They weren't foldable or square. They were stubby with triangular tips. But they were nice though. I liked them.    
  
The next day I wore grape colored laces to tie my hair in, my new yellow sneakers and of course, my invisi-line retainer. I watched the stray cats walk the fence. It was almost time to leave. I saw her face abruptly after tracing the path the paws of the cats took. She saw my bags and box. We exchanged a glance, and like that I left her as quickly as I had met her. I didn't even know the name of the girl.    
  
My memories were smeared like chalk. Chalk girl.


End file.
